


Beyond words

by ArbitraryRambunctious (SheepOutTetradecagon)



Series: And now I see [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Excuse the cheese, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, pure floof, you've heard of pwp now get ready for fwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:18:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10769751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheepOutTetradecagon/pseuds/ArbitraryRambunctious
Summary: "Even workaholics like you need sun every now and then".In which Phichit forces Seung-Gil to take a break from work to go hiking.





	Beyond words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michiyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michiyon/gifts).



> Happy birthday Cam! 
> 
> Here's an attempt at a fluff fic for a really nice person, I hope you like it!
> 
> Huge thanks to gliss for betaing!!  
> 

“So do you want to go?”

Seung-Gil absentmindedly hums in consent, eyes never really leaving the screen. His work has been killing him lately, and it doesn’t seem like it will let up anytime soon. The numbers are starting to blur into a chaotic muddle, forcing him to squint in order to keep track. His coffee mug only has a thin grouchy layer just covering the bottom. He’s going to need of another soon lest he fall asleep on the keyboard.

Phichit pokes his cheek, face in front of his, blocking his view of the screen. Seung-Gil grunts, annoyed, but doesn’t protest further. The usually warm eyes have a strict look to them.

“When was the last time you slept?” Phichit leans his ass on the edge of the writing desk, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a high-waisted shorts and a loose-striped tee. Seung-Gil vaguely registers that he was just asked a question and dazedly nods in agreement. He’s 99.9% sure he’d lose an argument right now. Phichit could probably make a ridiculous statement like "the sky is orange", or "Seung-Gil Lee is actually straight", and he wouldn’t have anything to say in his defense.

“When?” Seung-Gil squints up at Phichit. The dim light seeping in through the curtains casts harsh shadows on Phichit’s face, emphasizing his handsome features. Seung-Gil usually doesn’t think too much about how people look, but he has to admit, Phichit is an aesthetically pleasing sight for his tired eyes.

He doesn’t answer the question.

Phichit clicks his tongue disapprovingly. He brushes Seung-Gil’s bangs away and gently caresses his cheeks. The light touch tickles, awaking the affection-starved part of Seung-Gil’s brain. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“You need to get some rest. Also, no more work this weekend.” 

Seung-Gil protests weakly, but a hard glare from Phichit is enough to convince him.

1-0, Phichit.

He lets Phichit lead him into the minefield that is his room. Like most things in his life, it is a complete mess. Discarded clothes and unwashed plates cover the floor. Jinju is curled up in one corner of the room. The only indication that she’s still alive is a half-hearted wag of her tail as they enter. 

It feels like he’s been waiting eons for the moment he collapses on the bed. Starry skies flash on the inside of his eyelids, the experience bordering on trippy. He wonders if it is possible to get hungover from lack of sleep. 

A sigh can be heard from behind him. Phichit shoves insistently at his back until he eventually rolls over, curling up in the blankets. A small body curls up behind him, arms snaking around his waist. He can feel Phichit’s breath on the back of his neck. 

Years ago, such close contact would have made him panic, but now he sinks into it with a content sigh. He feels safe and warm and most of all, loved. It breaks his invisible barriers down, shatters them as if they were glass and Phichit were a hot glowing meteor hurtling at them at a hundred kilometres an hour. If he wasn’t so tired, maybe he would have protested against the fluttering kisses against the back of his neck, but he lets it pass.

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

* * *

“Is this really necessary?” Seung-Gil regards his attire with a surly frown. The bright red rubber boots Phichit lent him stand in stark contrast to the grey hiking pants and the black windbreaker. The entire thing frankly feels ridiculous. He might as well start looking for a yellow brick road to skip down.

“Even workaholics like you need sun every now and then.” Phichit shoves a camera into his hands. Every since they retired from competitive skating a few years ago, Phichit has taken his hobby as a social media personality to new heights. Phichit was already a competent photographer back then, but now it is a way of life. In between the occasional ice show, he spends his days looking for the perfect subject, or typing out the long blocks of text for his blog. If he takes a particularly good shot, selling it to a magazine brings in a decent amount of money.  

More often than not, it is people that his pictures revolve around: a random stranger forever immortal in a picture taken at the market, Yuuri looking longingly at Viktor between show breaks, Seung-Gil working on his manuscripts, face frowning at his computer screen. 

Today however, they’re headed into the wilderness. It’s not really the wilderness, just the trails outside Bangkok, which still feels like a jungle to a city boy like Seung-Gil. Phichit intertwines their fingers, beaming at him with a smile that could slay a bull. It does illegal things to Seung-Gil’s heart which are probably going to be the cause of him dying early. It is hard to argue against going out when your boyfriend is happiness incarnate 90% of the time. 

The trail is fortunately not too hard to navigate. Phichit will stop every now and then to snap pictures of the plants or the occasional bird that flies past. Seung-Gil will stop every now and then to admire the look of concentration on Phichit’s face as he adjusts the settings on the camera before taking the picture. It’s an arrangement that benefits them both at some level.

That doesn’t mean Seung-Gil is entirely happy about their situation. The thought about his unfinished work begging to be done at home is lingering in the back of his mind the whole trip.

It takes about an hour for Phichit to tire of photographing plants before they finally settle by a small brook. Seung-Gil appreciates the tranquil feel. Murky water trickles past them at a drowsy pace. The sun's rays reflects off the calm surface like glimmering strands, silhouettes of molten gold dancing on their faces. The little stream gives an illusion of calm, the strong undercurrents hidden from the unknowing eyes of the two skaters.

Phichit hands Seung-Gil an energy bar, happily chomping on one himself. Despite the long hike, the other boy glows with energy. Seung-Gil is not by any means in a bad shape himself, but the combination of Thailand’s humid air and the lack of sleep the past week makes it feel like he’s just run a marathon.

He shoves his sweaty bangs behind his ear, glancing thoughtfully up at the tree crowns above them. The sun is still high on the sky, making sure they’re both generously fried.

A shutter goes off.

“Sorry, you just looked nice like that.”

“I thought you wasn’t going to take pictures of humans today.”

“There are always exceptions. You’re mine.”

Seung-Gil huffs softly, trying his best to keep a stoic face. He suspects it isn’t working very well. 

“Phichit.” The voice saying the name doesn’t sound like his. It quivers, emotions bleeding through like paint in water. Maybe sleep deprivation is doing things to his brain. 

“I really like you.”

“I know,” Phichit laughs. The sound is bright. It sounds like dew drops falling off leaves on a rainy morning.

“No. I  _ really  _  like you. I know I don’t say it much.” The words taste wrong in Seung-Gil’s mouth. He curses his awkwardness, frustration building up in his chest from not finding the right words. He needs Phichit to understand. To understand how he is as essential as the oxygen Seung-Gil breathes. To understand how he gives colour to the black and white landscape Seung-Gil usually resides in. To understand how he makes him live.

“I know,” Phichit repeats, softer this time. He pulls Seung-Gil into a reassuring kiss, fingers tracing abstract shapes on his face. “You don’t need to say it. I know.”

They don’t say more words. Not about photography. Not about life. Not about love. It’s a good silence. For a moment they just exist, no work or obligations keeping them tethered to the earth. Phichit clutching Seung-Gil’s hand tightly in his, reassuring the racing heart in Seung-Gil’s chest. Maybe it won’t kill him today. He squeezes back, a wordless reply, earning a smile. It holds the promise not even a thousand words or a million pages of numbers could. And in their personal little bubble, it is more than a thousand words could ever say.


End file.
